


Dancing With Deceit

by The_Fictionist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-01-19 09:27:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1464235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Fictionist/pseuds/The_Fictionist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. In the wake of Grindelwald's defeat, a new Dark Lord is rising to power in England. New-Auror Harry Potter is on the case - but with growing links between Lord Voldemort and a mysterious figure from his past, things are anything but simple. You get those stories where Tom Riddle grows up with Harry Potter, transforms for the good, and Voldemort never exists. This is not one of those stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was strange being back in England again.

Harry had spent the last five years abroad, travelling, fighting against the forces of Grindelwald, among other things. Now, at the age of 22, he'd returned to take up a position as an Auror.

The worst part was that even now that he'd avenged himself as best as he could against the wizard who murdered his parents, it wasn't over.

 Rumours of a new rising dark power were growing, stirring in the shadows, centred on Britain and spreading outwards like a black taint. Rumours of something stronger; insidious, which had crept faceless into the heart of society without knowledge or warning.

Lord Voldemort.

That was all there really was to go on the matter, which wasn't a lot at all to be perfectly honest, but...he'd do his best to deal with it. The worst part was that he'd seen him before, during his Hogwarts days, though he still had no identification.

Just a name. Always that bloody name, it followed him quietly everywhere he went - and, maybe now, he was starting to hunt the shadow down in turn.

Or, rather, he would be if he wasn't stuck at this god awful Ministry party.

Harry plucked at his dress robes, feeling uncomfortable in the stiff expensive material, before smoothing it down and letting his hands clench around the stem of his wine glass instead.

All around him people swirled in splashes of colour and laughter, conversation washing in and out of his ears like a badly tuned radio.

"-another attack, dreadful business, the minister's doing everything he can to deal with it-"

"-getting old-"  
  
"-But he's young, isn't he? Potter? Dark Wizard catcher y'know-"  
  
"-the junior under-secretary-"  
  
"-Riddle-"  
  
"-Then there's that renegade bloke-"  
  
"-Shh, don't talk about it-".

It was more interesting than who was dating who, or who was wearing the best dress, he had to say - but, nonetheless, boring.

  
Harry had spent most of the evening so far catching up with his old friends. Hermione was working as a Wizarding Lawyer, in the department of Magical Law Enforcement.  Ron - who'd joined him on the front line more directly - was also entering the Auror system.

It was strange seeing old faces again.  
  
He took another swig of his drink, only to pause at a light tap on his shoulder. He turned, before blinking in surprise. He felt his stomach drop, something strange fluttering in his chest.

He felt like he’d been smacked.

"Tom-my god-what are you doing here?" he asked, not recognising his own voice. It was a little terse, however warm he tried to keep it. Maybe a bit breathless too.

Tom Riddle had been in the year below him at Hogwarts, a Slytherin where Harry had been a Gryffindor and, normally, that would mean he had absolutely nothing to do with the other.

The difference was that they'd grown up in the same Orphanage together.

"Harry," the man murmured, offered him a smile. _That_ smile, flawlessly charming. "I heard you were here and back in England. It’s been a long time. How have you been?"

"Good...yeah, I've been good," Harry replied, finally managing a smile back, clapping the man's arm. "How have you been? Heard you graduated with straight O's. Can't say I'm surprised."

Riddle laughed, softly.

"Should I be flattered that you kept tabs on me?" he purred. Harry bit his lip, shrugging, shifting his feet. Memories flashed through his head, but he clamped down on them, and some in particular. Felt his gut squirm again.

"Rumour spreads. You're making quite a name for yourself. Half of what I've heard since I got back has been about you. Junior Under-secretary to the Ministry at your age? Very impressive."

"Why, thank you," Tom smirked. "I do my best."

There was an awkward lull in the conversation, and Harry took another deep sip of his wine, looking around the hall.

The room was extravagantly done, with a large diamond chandelier and every surface polished until he could have licked the buffet off it without need for a table.

It was so different to what he was used to - what they were both used to, that he couldn't help but feel jealous at how seamlessly Tom seemed to fit in. As a child, the boy had been...different, rougher around the edges, sharper. He blazed where now he radiated a suave sort of coolness.

They'd never been particularly close; only briefly, like a flash each summer when there was no other proof of magic being real.

Slytherins and Gryffindors didn't exactly have a tendency for closeness and, if the Sorting Hat had almost put him into Slytherin, Harry would keep that to himself, along with the knowledge of how different everything could have been between them.

It wasn't worth dwelling on.

"You're becoming an Auror, aren't you?" Riddle started again, studying him. Harry's eyes snapped back to the man.

"Uh-yeah. How did you-?"

"You've made quite a name for yourself, soldier," the other drawled. "Heard you've been catching Dark Wizards. What do you think of this Lord Voldemort? Do you think you'll be put on the case."

For a moment, involuntarily, Harry stiffened completely. His throat thickened, bobbed.

"I can't imagine I would be. I'm just a new recruit. We'll all do our bit in the Department, I'm sure, if things develop," he replied, with a careful shrug. "And I thought people didn't say his name around here anyway?" he raised his brows.

Tom's eyebrows arched right back.

"Yes, but you hardly seem the type to obey such things. Nor did you flinch or anything. Don't even try it, Potter."

Harry grimaced, eyes starting to twinkle a bit with good humour, despite the darkness of the topic.

"Yeah, well, I'm not the Junior Under-Secretary to the Minister, am I?"

"Oh, don't judge me on that, please," Riddle waved a hand. "Everyone needs to start somewhere."

"I'm sure you're great at making tea," Harry smirked, teasing, before clapping the ex-Slytherin on the shoulder once more. Awkwardly. Not touching for long, not lingering. A pat. "Seriously though, congratulations. I'm sure you'll go far. Don't mind me."

There was a pause in their conversation as a large gaggle of people pushed in between them to get to the punch, and Riddle seized his arm, dragging him closer with a slight smile.

Harry was abruptly aware that he didn't think the man's eyes had moved away from him once during the entire course of their conversation, fixed on his form with a dark intensity, examining everything. He was starting to feel like a lab specimen pinned down for dissection.

He’d forgotten many of the small details of Tom over the years, like the rich warm scent of the man’s cologne so at odds with his personality – but those piercing eyes had haunted him even on the battlefields of Europe.

"Perhaps we should take this conversation away from the drinks-" the Slytherin began.

"Tom?" someone in the crowd had obviously spotted the other, and now weaved over. "I've been looking for you - oh." The blond, Malfoy, came to a stop, nose wrinkling a little as his gaze moved over Harry. "Am I interrupting?"

"It's nothing!" Harry said, quickly, with another smile. "I just saw someone anyway. You two talk." He looked at Tom, nearly crushed against the other man as people moved away from the table again. "It was nice seeing you again."

"I'm certain we'll do so again sometime," Tom murmured, with a smile back, if not a bit crisper than before. "Harry."

"Malfoy," Harry nodded curtly, before darting across the hall. He hadn't actually seen anyone, but with the discomfort of Riddle staring at him and how close they'd ended up, he figured it best to retreat.

His mouth felt dry and he didn't quite know why.

He beelined towards Hermione instead.

Well, it was good to be back?  
He put the matter from his mind.

Tom Riddle tried not to let his eyes darken with annoyance as he watched the young man sweep across the room. Away from him.

Harry Potter; the name had been playing on his mind for a very long time now.  
When he first met the boy, he'd thought nothing of him, just another stupid child in that stupid place.

That had changed when he was six. The other children were behaving to their normally loathable standard, and, of course, he could have easily taken care of himself with magic (even if he wasn't aware of the very nature of his gifts yet). He'd been about to, actually, to teach them a lesson he was sure they would never forget.

Harry had interceded, leaping at the group of older boys like a wild-cat of punches and kicks and snarls. The boy had got himself a bloody nose and several bruises, but his tormentors had backed off of him, at least then, for a while.

Since then, he knew he wanted Harry. He didn't care how he had him, but he wanted him. Wanted him to keep out the cold and the darkness with his own warmth and light.

Naturally, he'd immediately given his gratitude, smiled and looked innocent and teary-eyed. He'd let the older child protect him, look after him - not in the least because it was amazing watching the boy willingly get torn apart by the bigger boys on his behalf. It made him feel warm inside, seeing the pain flash, knowing it was for him.

He was pretty sure Harry didn't remember those days that much, and they'd drifted far apart at Hogwarts for the most part. They had different circles. Different ambitions. He stopped letting anyone protect him, let alone Harry Potter.

How could he prove himself a worthy match, after all, if he was always one stop behind? Weak and in need of protecting?

Harry was so special, Tom knew he had to either make himself worthy or claw the boy down to his level for them to be together.

Harry, of course, didn't seem to realise how extraordinary he was, how he was made for so much more than the filth he associated himself with.

They diverged; he found the glory and the power of the Darker Arts, Harry lowered himself and stuck to paltry light, repressing that initial violence, that ruthlessness, that power which had drawn him to the other on their very first meeting.

It was a pity.

It wasn’t so much that he couldn’t see the strength of Light Magic, it was that Harry grew to flinch away from any kind of power and authority despite such things belonging to his natural domain of character.

After everything Tom had done to catch up, Harry shrunk himself into the mediocre instead – desperate to fit among the sheep.  

Harry knew nothing of his feelings, either. All those long years, and the man had never looked at him twice, running off the war instead.

Well, he'd started getting the boy's attention in the end, hadn't he?  
Or rather, Lord Voldemort had.

It was a complicated matter, and one he couldn’t claim full credit for nowadays – but Harry’s attention was flattering nonetheless.

He suppressed a smirk, concentrating instead on the blond, masking his irritation well. Like he'd told Harry, junior Under Secretary to the minister was just a starting point.

He had a feeling that this was going to be a very good year.


	2. Chapter 2

"Harry, are you really sure you should be working this case?" Hermione asked, worriedly. It was the night before his first official day, and his best friend's concern was driving him just a little bit mad.

"As opposed to what?" he growled. "Besides, there might not even be a connection. You don't know that."

"Yeah, cause there are so many creeps going by the way of LV," Ron snorted. "What if there is a connection?"

Harry sighed, burying his head into his hands.

"Then I will be very well placed to track the bastard down, won't I? But I don't think they're the same person."

  
Rather, he really didn't want to contemplate the possibility right now. It made his insides squeeze up, especially considering the previous nature of his connection with 'LV'.

Back home was a mess, really. Too many memories. Too much history.  
Grindelwald had almost been easier.

LV, as he had known the initials, started with small, innocuous things that Harry didn't even notice it at first - a rose on his pillow which Ron had just snickered at whilst Harry went beetroot, though it was more like some type of guardian angel looking out for him subtly more than anything.

He sort of just hoped it would go away though, it made him a bit uncomfortable, though there was nothing too overt about the affections.

Then it started to creep up a bit in escalation.

He'd broken up with Ginny because of it, the messages. They weren't...threatening, per say, but the sheer amount of possessiveness in them and the obvious ill will towards whoever he was dating was enough to make him shudder.

Even worse, he was amazed and somewhat flattered that someone seemed to love him so...intently, though Hermione had immediately told him to cut out thinking like that because it was unhealthy and the person was quite clearly a violent and disturbed stalker.

After he broke up with Ginny, he received a note of apology for the excessive behaviour which really wasn't an apology at all, and a warded wrist band that was actually quite cool and would have been really useful if he could actually bring himself to wear it.

He was just so bloody thankful it hadn't been a ring.

After that, there was nothing - the whole thing died down completely. Then he went on a date with Cho Chang and she ended up in the hospital. Her face wasn't permanently disfigured, but she'd been in the hospital wing for several weeks as they tried to remove the 'whore' spelling acne off her skin.

Needless to say, he'd stopped dating people after that, and everything had been fine, normal. It was like the whole thing had never even happened. Actually, most people assumed he was gay after that.

It creeped him out horribly though, and he never told anyone about it. Hermione and Ron found out, but he'd pleaded with them to just keep his mouth shut.

He didn’t want people talking about it. _Knowing._ It just made him feel even more violated in his privacy.

Besides, the problem had gone away with that, rather than getting dragged through the mud.  
  
He just...hadn't wanted the person to escalate and get murderous if an investigation started either.

There was always the initials 'LV', at the end of every letter, and, carved into the wrist band - which Hermione claimed was eerily like a handcuff, until he just hissed her to stop it because she was making it worse.

It was strange though. Hermione had looked up stalkers, and this one didn't truly fit any of the stereotypical characteristics. The unknown person had never said anything about their future together, or made any allusions to Harry feeling anything back.

They hadn't really said anything about themselves in context to him at all. The letters themselves were very pragmatic, simple facts of what was going to happen to Ginny or Cho if he didn't back off.

He didn't want to think about it. It wasn't this...dark lord. 'Lord Voldemort' meant nothing, LV meant nothing, and he'd washed his hands off the whole matter.

He'd been somewhat relieved to escape into the world, to just run and travel and learn. It wasn't hiding or avoiding anything, it was just...giving LV time to find something else to obsess over. Preferably not another person, because then he would just feel horribly guilty.

He swallowed, clenching his fists.

"Yeah, well, I'm not in school anymore. If LV comes near me, I'll deck him and tell him to leave me alone," Harry said, firmly.

"You're going to take on a Dark Lord with an obsession on you?" Hermione replied, chewing her lip, hands curling in her lap. "That doesn't seem very safe. I think you should tell someone. Work this out - if it's a lead."

"I haven't heard from LV in years," Harry hissed. Ron and Hermione were eyeing him worriedly again, and he scowled. "Just drop the subject, alright?"

"Do you promise you'll bring it up with the Department if it turns out the two are connected?" Hermione persisted. Harry clenched his jaw.

"Fine. Whatever. Moving on..."  
He wouldn't.

If LV really was an insane, and, according to the recent attacks murderous, Dark Lord, there was absolutely no way he was putting anyone else in the line of fire.

He would handle it.  
But LV wasn't a dark lord. That would be ridiculous.

Besides, that would suggest LV was man.

Tom sat at his office - it was small, joint to the Senior Under-secretary's office, and then the Minister of Magic's.

He absolutely hated both of his 'superiors'. Cornelius Fudge was a greedy, bumbling fool, as easy as that made him to manipulate. He had Draco and Lucius on that particular case, discreetly of course.

Nothing was ever connected to him unless he wanted it to be. He was hidden.

Dolores Umbridge was even worse, the bitch was utterly insufferable. He wanted her dead more than anything, but, for now, she was more useful to his purposes alive.

He was Tom Riddle, quiet, modest student, brilliant, poor orphan, so very talented and good. He'd dated here and there, to keep up impressions of friendliness and charm.

Harry Potter returning to England was a hitch he’d never anticipated, though he knew he should have seen it coming.

It would have been fine, if all of those old feelings didn’t immediately bubble up in his chest all over again.

In a way, he was even glad to see Harry, because if anything was a loose string that he really need to tie up it was Harry Potter. Nonetheless.

The other man’s presence was a danger; a threat not solely based in his skills as a Dark Wizard catcher and repute as the defeater of Grindelwald, but also in the more personal matters of their acquaintance.

If anything would get close enough to figure it out, it would be Harry.

The idea was about as deliciously tantalizing as it was horrifying. He couldn’t let Harry tear down everything he’d worked up for himself. Harry, or anyone else for that matter.

But nonetheless, he had far bigger problems and concerns than Harry Potter. He had plans for the Wizarding World, carefully executed. He could hardly afford to indulge himself.

However, maybe ensuring Harry wouldn’t have a boring first day on the job – a welcome gift – could be arranged, without it coinciding with Tom’s own professional integrity.  

First, he had paperwork to do though.

This...was an absolute nightmare.  
It definitely wasn't boring, at least Harry could say that about it.

Hermione, of course, immediately decided to point out that the Dark Lord had performed another of his raids just for Harry's first day on the job an an Auror. He, immediately, wished she hadn't pointed it out, as if he had somehow failed to notice it himself.

It was interesting though, in a morbid, sick type of way. These attacks weren't random, LV (if Lord Voldemort was LV) wasn't just slaughtering people for the sake of it like a glorified serial killer.

There was a plan behind it, however convoluted it was.

A 'Dark Mark,' as it was called, had been found over the house of Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies Professor at Hogwarts, along with an amendment from the Statue of Magical Security pinned to her chest, where she'd clearly been set up on what looked like a pyre.

Exactly like the ones witches and wizards used to be burned on. The words 'magical purity' were carved bloody into her back.

It was only due to far too much experience with battlefields and gruesome deaths that Harry didn't promptly hurl his breakfast. The 'LV' was sliced into her left arm, very small and discreet compared to the careful ostentatious showmanship of the rest of the scene.

It was a political ideology, stance and message, that much was clear.

They examined the scene closely, took crime scene photos, before returning to the Offices to try and brainstorm.

He should have known Ron would say something, a little too loudly.

"What do you mean, this can't be a coincidence?" Scrimgeour demanded, sharply, eyes snapping to them. "If you know something, speak up boys. Now."

Harry hesitated, grimacing.

"It's really not much of a connection-"

"-Harry used to have a stalker who identified him or herself with the letters LV," Ron said bluntly. "Just like on the Dark Lord's scenes."

There was a terrible, thickening silence that seemed so heavy it was suffocating. Harry's mouth ran a little dry.

"WHAT? And you're mentioning this...now?" their Head of Department growled, taking a step forward, glaring at him.

Great, just great. It would almost be an achievement to get fired on his first day.

"I didn't think it was relevant, sir," Harry began to explain himself, fists clenching, speaking as calmly as he could.

"How many psychopaths do you know who go by the initials L-" the man interrupted, only to pause as there was a knock on the door.

Without any hesitation for an answer, the door then opened and a stack of papers on legs entered.

  
The documents were dropped on a desk, along with several cups of coffee, revealing a face.

Rufus straightened, but Tom started immediately.

"The Minister needs to know if you have any leads on the Voldemort case. The Press are hounding him, and he wants something to say to them," the man said, with the calmness Harry himself had just been trying to maintain. "I figured I'd get you all coffee on the way too, so maybe then tomorrow we won't have another scandal because you'll be awake enough to get to the scene before there's a body."

Harry nearly choked on the coffee he'd just lunged for. Scrimgeour didn't look quite so amused, lips thinning with disapproval.

"Mr Riddle, I do hope you're taking this seriously," the man started, icily. Tom's expression hardened, even as he gave an all too pleasant smile back.

"Oh, I am. Which is exactly why I want our Aurors on their best and alert, Mr Scrimgeour," he replied, lightly. "Now - leads? The Prophet have us on a tight schedule."

"Mr Weasley and Mr Potter were just elaborating on a possible lead," Kingsley murmured, in his slow drawl.

Riddle's eyes moved to him for the first time, expectantly. Harry suddenly felt trapped, awkward, and folded his arms, resisting the urge to shoot Ron a black look.

  
"I used to have a...stalker, I suppose you could call it, who went by the initials LV," he muttered. "Ron here seems to think there's a connection between the two."

"But you don't?" Tom asked. Harry shrugged.

"I suppose it's possible, I'm just not sure it's enough to warrant an investigation. It would narrow the suspect pool down a lot though. If they're the same person, due to earlier incidents they'd have to be around their twenties to be at Hogwarts the same time as me, and probably not older than 23 due to incidents in my sixth year."

"It's rather unlikely that a Dark Lord of any great standing would be that age, unless he is merely tricking us into believing us he has more following and influence than he actually does," Scrimgeour mused.

"Exactly," Harry said.

"But it's worth an investigation, nonetheless. It's the best we have right now," the man continued.

Damn it. It wasn't that he didn't want to catch Lord Voldemort...he just didn't want to go into those past events, especially not with his new colleagues. It was embarrassing!

Tom was staring at him.  
"Do you feel threatened? Because I can arrange a bodyguard for your sec-"

"Hell no!" Harry protested, surging to his feet, nearly slopping his coffee everywhere. "I do not need a bodyguard. For fuck's sake, a stalker already infringes on my life and privacy - and, just for reference, nothing has happened in years - I am not having a bodyguard shadowing me every bloody second of the day. Not in the least because I am far more capable at protecting myself than a bodyguard would ever be."

"It was merely a polite suggestion," Riddle said mildly. "For your safety. No need to get so agitated, Auror Potter."

Harry nearly slammed his head against the wall.

"Yeah, well, thanks, but no thanks."

Tom studied him a moment longer, before his gaze cast to their department head again.  
"What should I tell the Minister then?"

Scrimgeour was silent for a while.

"Tell him we are looking into the situation and doing everything we can to resolve this and bring this 'Dark Lord' to justice and Azkaban. Potter - with Shacklebolt. Tell him everything about this matter, I presume I don't need to put Auror Weasley on duty with you to ensure you don't omit details for whatever reason," he stated, curtly. "After that, you are having nothing more to do with this investigation until this lead is resolved."

" _What?_ " Harry hissed. "No! Sir - with all due respect-"

"With all due respect, you will obey my orders," Scrimgeour barked. Harry's teeth gritted.

"But I can  _help_!"

"If this Dark Lord is really your stalker, he is fixated on you and your involvement on this matter will only spur him on," the man snarled.

"He's invaluable to you as bait though," Tom said quietly. Harry blinked, before turning to face the man.

"See! Exactly! What he said!" he pointed at Riddle. "Thanks for the concern about my well being by the way," he added, dryly.

"You're welcome. Not to mention, if this Dark Lord is really the stalker and fixated on Mr Potter, withdrawing him might provoke a violent reaction," Tom continued. "It's like dangling a mouse in front of a cat and then telling it that it's not allowed to play. Mr Potter's induction to the department wasn't exactly kept secret - as suggested, if the timing really was meant to welcome him to his new job. The Dark Lord knows about it, and may retaliate."

"Yes, thank you, _Junior Under-secretary to the Minister_ ," Scrimgeour drawled, rather pointedly. "How about you do your job, and let us do ours? I am perfectly capable of extrapolating the evidence myself without your illumination.”

"We could watch how the situation goes and I will step out of this investigation if it is necessary?" Harry offered, awkwardness only growing. "We still have no solid evidence to suggest that I have any connection to Lord Voldemort and, if I did, his antics this morning would imply he has far better things to do and far greater agendas than sending me love notes, don't you think?"

"Exactly. I like you Harry Potter, stay on this job," Tom smirked. Scrimgeour's face soured.

"Fine. For now we will wait - Potter, go and report to Kingsley now. Mr Riddle tell the Minister I will see him shortly. Both of you, stop flirting with each other. It's sickening to watch."

Harry's eyes widened as he gaped – felt his stomach drop all over again, as the back of Tom’s neck coloured a little.  
  
"What? I'm not-"

"Now."  
Harry grabbed his coffee and stalked after Kingsley, red-faced.

This was one hell of a first day. He'd expected things to be better longer before screwing up on him.

He blamed LV.  
He could find the git and lock him up just for being such a bloody nuisance.

...and that really wasn't the right way to look at this, considering the other's appalling crimes.  
Shit.

He couldn't wait for his lunch break.


	3. Chapter 3

By lunchtime, Harry was ready to completely explode.

He knew he should probably go and be friendly in the Ministry cafeteria, field questions, do some proper networking, investigations...but he needed air.

He was an Auror, for god's sake, he would have expected people to be at least a little less stifling. Not only was he an Auror, he'd been the soldier on the front line of war - it was insulting that they thought he needed protecting so much.

He wasn't exactly helpless, and, what was LV going to do, jump him from behind a filing cabinet? He was at the bloody Ministry of Magic, nothing was going to happen and he'd had quite enough of sharing his personal life for one day.

Maybe, for that reason, he avoided Ron and Hermione too. They were the ones that ensured his first morning as an Auror was spent being interrogated rather intrusively.

He knew it wasn't fair to blame them; they were only looking out for him, worried, and he knew in their position he'd be doing anything he could to help. They just weren't helping.

He went to the roof of the building.  


It wasn't strictly allowed, and he really should have been setting a better example as one of the Law Enforcement, but...well...

He'd always liked being high up, near the air, or, preferably, flying. It was calming, to be so above the world and whatever was happening in it, like it could give him some perspective on the situation. It could calm his mind, because he liked to think he wasn't a coward and could face whatever people threw at him...but spending a morning theorising about some creep, potential Dark Lord and how it could escalate to him being raped and murdered if he was provocative was enough to put anyone on edge.

He wasn't scared, but he'd be lying if he said he was nonchalant and utterly at ease with the whole thing either.

Training never really covered being personally targeted, but he supposed he'd had some of his own experiential schooling on that matter already. He’d had more than one Dark Lord obsessed with him in his life.

The problem was that someone had already found his spot, and...

"Are you stalking me or something?" Riddle demanded, glancing around.

Harry spluttered.

"No! I didn't think anyone was up here," he protested. "I'll just, uh, go-"

"-Oh relax, I'm only teasing you, soldier boy. More or less. You may as well sit down," Tom rolled his eyes, before waving a thermos. "I have more coffee."

Harry wasn't entirely sure if he should be amused or not. But he didn't want to go face the canteen just yet, that was for sure.

"You know, you can't buy my affections through coffee, don't you?" he smirked, rolling his eyes. Determined to shove any awkwardness between him and Riddle aside. It wasn’t professional.

"Bribery doesn't work?" Riddle raised his brows. "What a pity. Can I buy it through dinner and food instead? Tonight? Eight O Clock?"

Harry forced himself to laugh, flopping down next to the man.

"You're a creep."

"And you're just charming," Riddle returned, dryly, not missing a beat. "I don't know what this Dark Lord sees in you. Be as polite to him as you are to me and I'm sure he'll cringe away in horror. Speaking of, should you be wandering around on your own when you're evidence and a possible target?"

"Oh don't start," Harry snapped, grimacing. "The whole department have been hassling and coddling me all morning. It's driving me bloody nuts."

Riddle laughed.

"It doesn't bother you that there's some  _insane_ psychopath after you?"

"Well, it doesn't exactly make my day," Harry muttered. "But it's not like it's proven yet. Everyone could be freaking out over nothing. Besides, if he is the Dark Lord and comes after me and gets too close than I can stab him, can't I?"

"You can try, I'm sure. Though I'm certain that's not exactly an official or legal method of apprehending criminal activists."

Right. Junior Under-secretary to the minister, wasn't he?

"When they arrest me for murder, be my alibi and pretend this conversation never happened, yeah? Deal?" he said, aiming for a winning grin.

"Perhaps for the right price," Tom murmured, eyes gleaming with amusement...and he was getting stared at again. Harry looked away pointedly, clearing his throat.

"I'll leave you to drink your coffee in peac-what are you even doing up here?" Harry asked. He couldn't believe that question hadn't popped into his head immediately.

"I could ask you the same question," Tom returned. "But, seeing as you asked first - I'm avoiding my supervisor giving me more paperwork. That, and she keeps flirting with me. It's a bit disturbing really."

"Is she the one who looks like a toad?" Harry's lips twitched. "Least she's not stalking you."

"Would be easier if she was. Then I could put a restraining order on her," Tom drawled.

"Lucky for some. I don't think a Dark Lord would really give a damn about a legal restraining order," Harry muttered, voice darkening a little.

"You also don't know who the Dark Lord is, so it could be rather difficult," Riddle said, shrugging carelessly. Harry couldn't help but suddenly appreciate the man, freaky staring aside, for not making a massive big deal about and acting all serious about it. In all honesty, making a bit of a joke and a banter about it actually really helped.

"Yeah, it  _could_ be you. You're 21, went to Hogwarts with me. Bit of a creep. Fits the bill," Harry joked. "That and you keep staring at me."

"Wear a paper bag. You have interesting eyes, I can't help myself."

Harry promptly went beetroot all over again.

"Yeah, well,  _start_ helping yourself-" he growled, only to pause and then groan as Riddle smirked at his phrasing. "Damn it, I didn't mean help yourself, bloody hell, I-“

“I’m teasing you, Harry. Though you do have lovely eyes. Do you want coffee or not? If not, feel free to leave me to enjoy my break instead of hovering.”

Harry accepted the coffee.

"It's a free country, I can stay up here and pester you all I want," he added. When he first saw Tom, he’d initially planned to keep his distance at that would probably be best – but the man was as magnetic as he’d always been, and right now strangely comforting.

It was probably cruel of him to latch onto Tom though, all things considered. The man didn’t seem to mind though, simply giving a thoughtful hum.

"Always found that saying interesting. It's a free country," Riddle murmured. "And of course you can stay as long as you like. You know that, Harry.”

Harry stared down at his knees, suddenly uncomfortable all over again. The past lurked far more heavy with those soft words, with that scrutiny. His throat thickened with the urge to say something, to apologize, but…

In the end he drank his coffee in silence. Awkward on his side, a bit infuriatingly companionable on Tom’s as they looked out over the streets of London. He followed Tom’s gaze to find it was resting on the general direction of the Orphanage.

“It burnt down a few years ago, whilst you were away,” Tom said, answering the question Harry didn’t ask.  Harry swallowed – but he also felt the tension break a bit.

“It feels wrong to say ‘good’, but…”

“I know,” Tom murmured. Harry turned his head to study the other man for a moment. It really had been a very long time. He opened his mouth to say something again, to bring _that_ up, to apologize-

“I should get going,” he said.  

"Even if it's a free county?" Tom raised his brows, head inclining to look at him in turn.

"Even then. Sorry. Next time bring food and maybe you can bribe my awesome company a bit longer, I'm starving," Harry teased, managed a smile. "Do you come up here often then?"

"I find it calming. Most Mondays."

"I bloody hate Mondays. They're always the worst," Harry grumbled, mildly.

"Indeed. Off you go then, try not to get kidnapped on your way down the stairs."

"Oh, ha ha..." Harry sneered. "You're just a blast, Riddle. It's a date then or whatever...except, y'know, not really. You're just in my spot, but hey, if my potential stalker Dark Lord hears of it, maybe he'll kill you. Then I can just have the roof to myself."

That had the possibility of coming across very wrong, so it was a relief when Riddle seemed more amused than anything – though they’d always shared that odd sort of humour.

"Ouch," Riddle pressed a hand against his heart. "Just as we were getting along. You break my heart, Potter."

Harry snickered and shut the door behind him.  
The cafeteria seemed more manageable now.

He still felt guilty.

"My lord."

Tom didn't look up at the soft murmur, sitting on the Chesterfield with his documents in hand. They had been simple enough to get hold of, especially for someone in his position, and easy to make copies of so they wouldn't be missed.

The personal files of all the Aurors, those on the Voldemort investigation.  


It was interesting reading, useful research. They'd investigate him, he'd study them in turn to ensure he always ended up on top.

"You may enter," he said, quietly. Lucius came over, a little stiffly, kneeling in front of him with a rustle of cloth. As it should be. "Did you do as I asked?"

"Yes, my lord. We've managed to attain Thicknesse. As the Head of the Department of Law Enforcement, he has prime control over the Aurors, even Scrimgeour, and is well placed to succeed when the time is opportune."

Somehow, it was even more glorious to have the allegiance and loyalty of those older than him, those who had once turned their noses up at him and his heritage. He'd certainly proven them wrong on that account. He got their children, his peers, first, and from there he'd broadened his scope to snag their parent's generation too.

With the fall of Grindelwald, the Dark community had their eyes on him, the Heir and Lord of Slytherin. He would not disappoint them, with a blood line as pure and regal as his it was clear he was worthy of their loyalty and their hopes.

He had power they could scarcely dream of. Where once Lord Voldemort was a child's dream and fantasy, he was now real, and so very much alive. The world would not be able to look away and Britain would fall to its knees before him.

"You have done well," he purred. "Dismissed. Send your son in, I have a new assignment for him too, seeing as he saw fit to interrupt me in the weekend's festivities."

Lucius nodded, gaze glancing up at him, so very briefly.

_He loved the terror and respect in their eyes most of all._

It had been a bloody long day at the Office. Considering it was his first day, it was ridiculous that he should be hauled into over-time already...but with another war looming in the shadows, he couldn't complain.

Harry had yet to receive missive from Albus either.  
His Professor and...General, for want of a better word perhaps, had promised to send message once he was back in England, after settling Grindelwald into his new quarters at Numergard.

The entire nation awaited him with a hero's welcome for having defeated the Dark Lord. Harry himself had only been honoured to be mentored by the man on the field.

It was unusual, really, for a fresh-faced graduate such as himself to be selected for the front line, or for any close relationship with the Leader of the Light, and, at times, he'd felt like his Professor was almost prepping him for something...

But it had never happened, so the thought was ridiculous, irrelevant.

He assumed the man had just taken interest in him because he knew his parents, before they were murdered. Of course, that raised the question of how he'd ended up in the Orphanage in the first place, but considering the state of affairs at the time he couldn't blame Dumbledore for allowing some children to slip through the cracks of society. Not in the larger scheme of things.

For the first three years of his life, he'd been raised by the Dursleys, on his mother's side of the family.

Harry supposed, one day, that day, they just got sick of his 'freakishness' and their inability to suppress it. He'd been left to wander London whilst they went away on Holiday, only to be found and dropped off at the nearest Orphanage.

And there, he stayed. Most of his previous life faded from memory, but there was still the traces, the shouts in his ears.

The Orphanage hadn't been much better.  
He got into fights with the other children too much, mainly the older ones whenever they picked on anyone younger than themselves - including Tom as well, he supposed.

He wondered if Riddle remembered that, he wasn't going to bring it up. Even if it seemed a better memory and more flattering a one, then what had followed.

  
He would have done the same for anyone - he did - it was just that Riddle seemed to attract the abuse more than anyone else.

He'd wondered then if he had the freakishness too, but the boy seemed so normal, no outbursts of any kind, no accidental magic. He'd assumed he was wrong, and it melted from memory, and he felt so alone...then he got his Hogwarts letter, and most other thoughts were forgotten.

Tom had got his letter the next year.

  
He assumed, then, that whilst he hadn't picked up on the younger's magic, that Tom had noticed and been drawn to him. It was probably why the kid had always stared at him.  
  
Well, that, and because he protected him. Hero worship, or something. It was kind of sweet, if not a bit annoying.

Thankfully the man had got over it now...aside from the staring. He was surprisingly good company. The awkwardness was Harry’s fault – Tom seemed to have forgiven everything.

He fished his keys out, thinking that maybe an owl would come tonight, shoved them into the lock and stepped into his crappy apartment.

He exhaled a sigh, letting his bag drop, only to frown.  
Was...the floor a bit dark and stickier than normal?

His wand was out instantly, his hand fumbling for the lights.  
He blinked to adjust as the gloom and darkness faded, only to wish he hadn't.

_Shit._


	4. Chapter 4

Harry had a cup of tea burning his clenched fingers.  
His hands weren't shaking, his expression was perfectly stoic, even as the Aurors all bustled around him.

He hadn't been the one to call them. Really, why would he? He was an Auror himself, he was the person people called when stuff like this happened. There was no one else.

Hermione had come to check on him, worried when he failed to meet up with her for post-first day drinks, and had flooed in when he made no effort whatsoever to answer the door.

She'd immediately called some people, and shoved a piping cup of tea into his hands as if that would make this better. She talked, she rationalised.

The blood was going to be a nightmare to get out of the walls.

_HELLO AGAIN HARRY_

There was nothing more, no threat, just – just those three words. There was none of the normal identifier, no LV, but Harry didn't think he really needed one. The ‘again’ was suggestive enough.

He calmly ordered someone to confirm whose blood was on his wall, and wondered why they were all eyeing him with an increasingly nervous energy and wariness when he was so clearly holding it together.

Harry's home wasn't badly warded, anything but. It was a statement of power, a taunt of how his stalker could infringe even into his home, and thus that there was nowhere truly safe for him because everyone had a right to feel protected and relaxed in their own home.

"Potter, I'm afraid you're really going to have to step out of this investigation," Scrimgeour said quietly, gruffly, but not with any intent to spite. "I'm sorry."

"Really?" Harry murmured. "You have no proof that this is the work of-“

“The coincidence is a bit heavy, don’t you think? Between the Dark Lord’s murders and this? I wouldn’t be surprised to find that the blood belonged to one of Voldemort’s recent victims,” Scimgeour snapped.   
  
Harry grimaced.

“One – this coincides with my public return to England. It could be triggered by that if this is…someone else. This is LV. Two, if LV and the Dark Lord really are the same person as potentially theorized, considering the similarity in their initials, it only becomes more obvious that he wants my attention, and rather a lot. Riddle could be right in saying that my absence from this case would only provoke him further."

"I would be more careful when listening to the words of Tom Riddle," his head of department said, sharply. "Take my word on that. He's not what he seems."

Harry’s brow furrowed at that comment, and he felt a surge of defensiveness in his chest.

“And how’s that? Does he have a criminal record?”  
  
“No,” Scrimgeour admitted. “But-“

“Then for what reason do you advise me to mistrust him?”   
  
They were all staring at him, surprised by the vehemence of his reaction. Scrimgeour’s jaw tightened a little.

“Several of Mr Riddle’s acquaintances are known Dark Wizards, such as the Malfoys-“

“Hardly surprising,” Harry interrupted, chin jutting up. “Riddle’s a politician and a former Slytherin. Of course he would be acquainted with Dark Wizards. _I’m_ acquainted with Dark Wizards.”

Scrimgeour looked away.

“This helps nothing, sir,” Robards said. “I am more curious as to why Mr Potter didn’t himself contact anyone when he found blood on the walls. We need to test the freshness of the blood to see if he has an alibi for whether or not he did this himself, though even if he hasn't, the evidence is not conclusive as he could have ordered someone else to do it for him. Of course, I'm not saying you are the Dark Lord, Potter, but all avenues must be explored and your reticence on this case is already-."

"Harry's the victim here," Ron growled, angrily, fists clenching. "You're all bloody barmy! You can’t be serious."

  
"It's actually not that insane," Harry almost wanted to laugh. "If I wasn't me, I might suspect myself too. The only problem is that Voldemort has been stirring whilst I've been out the country fighting against Grindelwald. It would be pretty hard for me to be a rising Dark Lord during that."

"Riddle then," Scrimgeour stated. Harry shot him a look.

"With all due respect, sir, you have no proof of that. You might not like him, but that doesn't make him a mass murderer."

"You may want to get in his pants; that doesn’t make him innocent," Scrimgeour returned.

  
Harry was glad he wasn't drinking his tea, choking and spluttering twice in one day would have been a bit too much.

“I - this isn't even relevant, sir," Harry growled, utterly infuriated and scarlet-faced. "Even if I did fancy Riddle - which, just for reference, I don't - it still wouldn't necessitate him being Lord Voldemort or LV. What exactly do you know that would make you so eager to accuse him from the day one? He’s a half blood. He grew up in a muggle orphanage. He hardly has the motive to be the Dark Lord champion of blood purity.”

"I could see Malfoy being a Dark Lord actually," Ron said. Hermione huffed.

"Just because you two don't like him, that doesn't make him a Dark Lord either. So far, none of the accusations or suggestions made in this room would stand up in a court of law, and, thus, you have no proper conviction even if you're assumptions were correct," she said. “Unless, of course, you have a rational and evidenced reason behind either of your views?”

"Talking of people with a crush on Tom Riddle," Ron muttered. Hermione glared furiously, blushing.

"I was sixteen! He's smart and handsome and doesn't exactly look or act his age, and I can say that objectively because I'm not a child and we're not in school anymore. Everyone fancied him to some extent at some point."

"I didn't," Harry pointed out.

"You spent most your childhood around him. You're more likely to see him as family," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Like a little brother or something."

Harry blinked.

"Yeah, maybe when I was six, I liked that idea, but it's not like we're close and this is completely off topic. I have bloodstains on my wall. I should clean them out now, if you guys are done taking evidence." He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, trying to think of anything else and...stuff. He was not thinking about that night.

“You grew up with Mr Riddle?” Scrimgeour lunged on the topic.

“Yes,” Harry snapped. “I did. So I would say I have rather more authority than you on the matter of if he’s a potential suspect or not. Again, you have yet to offer any proof on the matter of your accusations.”

“After years on this job, I have my instincts,” his head of Department said. “He’s up to something.”

“He’s a politician! Of course he’s up to something!” Harry replied. Honestly, he had no idea where this was coming from. “That doesn’t mean he’s a mass murderer.”

“More importantly,” Kingsley rumbled in that calm voice of his. “I do not believe Mr Potter should be staying here tonight. If he is not a suspect as Robards argues, then there is a very real danger towards him. It has already been proven that his wards can be breached, and so he is not safe here. That should be our priority over any hasty conclusions."

"Oh well please don't let Robards put me in a ministry holding cell for the night to keep me safe," Harry snapped, before he could himself. He drew in several calming breaths under the look his superiors levelled him with. Though really, Scrimgeour had no right to make demands on his professionalism right now. "Sorry."

"You'll stay with me for the night," Scrimgeour said, seeming to make an effort to calm too. "Until a more suitable arrangement can be made. It's no secret that you're friends with Auror Weasley and Miss Granger, so I would prefer not to place a larger target on their backs by having them house you. Pack your stuff."

There was no room for protest in the words.

"I can defend myself," Harry muttered, scowling. "Besides, if I'm the Dark Lord you shouldn't let me in your house." Okay, so maybe he wasn’t so calm.

But really, he didn’t appreciate the comments regarding Riddle.

"If you were the Dark Lord, you would not make that protest for the advantages being in my house would apparently afford you," Scrimgeour replied. Harry grimaced, and the tension between them broke as he huffed a laugh.

"Ah, yeah, unless of course I was trying to lull you all into a false sense of security-"

"-Harry, are you seriously going down the route of convincing a room for all of Aurors that you're a Dark Lord? It could sound dangerously like a confession, under which we'd have no choice but to arrest you," Tonks laughed, even if there was a serious edge to it.

They looked at him expectantly. He deflated.  
"...no. I'm not.

"Riddle was right, and I can't believe I'm saying that," Ron snorted.

"Huh?" Harry asked.

"You really should get a bodyguard."  
Harry scowled.

Now just to find out whose blood it was.

* * *

 

_It was the summer between his fifth and sixth year, and Tom’s fourth and fifth._

_The rain was smearing the streets of London grey, and Harry could barely walk straight over the slippery pavements._

_The orphanage was strict on underage drinking affairs, and he knew the matron wouldn’t willingly allow him entrance if he turned up like this._

_He took another swig of his bottle anyway._

_He’d had his first really bad argument with Ginny, over the whole Grindelwald situation. Really, Harry didn’t think it was unreasonable not to want anyone else to die for him. To wanting to make sure the people he loved were safe._

_She’d disagreed and things had spiralled from there to the point that it was uncertain that they would even still be dating tomorrow. His chest ached._

_He staggered up to the doors of the Orphanage, only to find them already locked for the door. He swiped sodden hair away from his forehead, shivering. It was a warm enough night, but the downpour left its chill._

_He hesitated a moment, before tottering over to Tom’s window._

_Tom. Too many thoughts about Tom too, thoughts that shouldn’t have been there at all. He wasn’t supposed to notice the curve of Tom’s cheekbones, the gleam in his eyes or the way that he smiled._

_He wasn’t supposed to notice the pale skin peeking out beneath his shirt. He was supposed to notice the softness of Ginny alone, or at least not…_

_He threw a stone up, nearly staggering off balance. Another, before the window opened and the Slytherin was leaning out to look at him. Blinked a few times._

_“Let me in,” he called up, doing his best to keep himself upright. “She’s locked the door.”_

_“It’s 1 in the morning – are you drunk?” Tom demanded._  
  
“Just let me in.” 

_Tom disappeared, and a moment later the door had opened. The moment after that, a warm arm had wrapped around his waist, and Tom had hauled Harry’s arm over his shoulder._

_For a moment, Harry was distracted again with considering when the younger boy had got taller than him._

_“Salazar, you’re freezing,” he heard Riddle hiss. “What’s wrong with you?”_

_“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out,” Harry replied mournfully. “She’s pretty. So really, there must be something wrong with me.”_  
  
“What?”   
  
“Ginny,” Harry said, as if that explained anything. He leaned heavily into Tom, the world swaying nauseatingly around him. Buried his head into the other boy’s neck. “You smell nice.” He felt Tom’s breath catch, even as the other boy started to help him up the stairs as quietly as possible.

_He was sixteen soon. If he got a bad record, there was no guarantee they’d let him stay here anymore. No room. There were always more orphaned children in the world._   
  


_But he had nowhere else to go either.  
 _

_“You two had a row?” Tom verified._

_“Uhuh. Can’t seem to do anything right. Must be something wrong with me.”_

_“There’s nothing wrong with you.” The fingers squeezed in at his side. “Trust me on that.”_

_Harry lifted his head at that, breath puffing over Tom’s lips as he stared at him._

_Tom was in the Wizarding World too. He knew all about Grindelwald, and once he started he just couldn’t stop as the stream of words bubbled out of him like vomit._

_“And Grindelwald’s back too. He’s gonna kill me, Tom. I don’t want to die. I didn’t want any of this. It’s all just a big bloody mess. God, what if I break up with her and then I just die alone? He’s already killed my parents, what if he’s going to kill everyone else too-“_

_“-Harry, breathe.” Fingers clamped around his chin, as he hovered swaying in the corridor. “And lower your voice, for merlin’s sake.”_

_Harry sucked in a sharp breath, shivering still._

_Tom’s expression softened._

_“I won’t let him hurt you.”_

_“You’re so nice to me,” he mumbled. “For a Slytherin.”  
Tom snorted at that comment. _

_“You’re drunk. Let’s get you to bed.”_

_Harry’s grip tightened, his own breath seizing in his chest. Being alone suddenly seemed a terrible thing._

_“No. Let me stay with you.”_

_Tom stared at him, something in his eyes. Then he was pulled into Riddle’s room._

_“You’ll freeze to death if you sleep in those clothes,” the other boy said, in a clinical tone. “Lift your arms up. We can’t use magic.”_

_Harry did so obediently, feeling the cool air hit him as the wet shirt was peeled off him. Hyperaware of Tom’s slender fingers dancing over his skin. Confident, undeterred._

_Ginny wasn’t hesitant either. She kissed like she knew what he was doing, even if she was in Tom’s year and not his own. The whiskey tasted sour in his mouth._

_“I don’t think I love her, Tom. I should love her. Boys like me always love girls like her.”_

_The Slytherin stilled, staring at him with that even expression of his fingers, already shoving his sodden jeans off to join his shirt on the floor._

_“Boys like you? I’m not sure that’s an accurate statement,” Tom muttered. “You can grab one of my shirts from the cupboard. Then shut up and go to sleep.”_

_The other boy’s eyes moved over him, pausing on his mouth as he bit his lip worriedly. Harry’s head tilted._

_It was all rushing in his head. Everything. All the confusing tangles and all the knots and the questions and he just wanted it all to stop. He didn’t want to think about it. Wanted to prove himself worth something, didn’t want to be alone, could feel his head spinning and Tom was so close, he was just there and…_

_Harry leaned up to press their mouths together._

* * *

 

This had to be the most awkward thing, ever.  
Harry was having a sleepover at his boss' house; he felt like some stupid little kid who couldn't look after himself.

Except, he did know how to look after himself, and despite all the talk about it when he first got back, they suddenly all seemed to forget he'd just arrived off the front line of a war.

It was infuriating. Repeatedly infuriating.

He'd never been particularly good at accepting authority, he'd spent a rather significant chunk of his school years in detention. Sometimes he wondered why he'd then decided to join the ministry, and he supposed it came down to the fact that being an Auror was better than the civilian life.

When he was younger, even when he'd just graduated, he'd dreamed of having a normal life without stalkers, or Dark Lords at war who seemed far too interested in him(and really, what was it about him, was he a Dark Lord magnet or something because Grindelwald had been almost as obsessed with him as he had been with Dumbledore!) or anything else dangerous.

...now. Well, it wasn't that he didn't like the ideal of safe and comfortable living, with a white picket face and a smart, beautiful wife who loved him and two point five kids of whatever...he just didn't think he could do it.

He was...calmer, in a crisis, more relaxed almost. He'd grown up in war, now, whenever it was peace, he started feeling involuntarily edgy despite his best efforts. He couldn't help but wait for something to go wrong.

Danger was his home now, and however good a home it was or wasn't, he couldn't shake it.

And he most certainly was not just going to let some madman, Dark Lord or no, walk around and take control of his life. He'd had enough of feeling freaked out and powerless at Hogwarts, yielding to demand and isolating himself.

He wouldn't be so weak again. This time, he was going to fight for his life because he did not enter a bloody war just to have some home-grown terrorist smother him out.

Lord Voldemort could go to hell, and, whether it was with the Aurors or not, legally or not, he was going to win this time.

If the Dark Lord wanted a game, a response, and he could bloody well get one and deal with it.

Game on.

A Dark Lord was easy.

The blood turned out to belong to a pig.

* * *

 

_It was the first kiss he’d ever had – though he had plenty of offers before._

_It was…disappointingly clumsy, and Harry’s mouth tasted of alcohol and mints. Their noses bumped too._

_It was Harry though. Finally, after so long – and the other boy had been the one to start it! Drunk, but still. The fact he was even kissing him in the first place had to mean something, surely?_

_He had to admit, when Harry had mentioned problems with Miss Weasley, he’d been delighted. Maybe his letters were working, though Harry had cited Grindelwald over him as the foremost reason for distance._

_All he could feel was the anticipation to being so close, to claiming what he wanted and certainly if Harry was his this would never happen._

_After a moment, Harry froze, staring at him, lips already reddened._

_“I – god – Tom – I’m sorry – I-“_

_“Kiss me again,” he ordered, before Harry could continue and ruin it. The situation was hardly how he’d imagined it, but Tom had never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He tightened his fingers in the older boy’s hair, pulling him in again, more roughly than Harry had done._

_“I have a girlfriend.”_

_Harry still kissed back though, with such sweet eagerness, hands moving to grasp his shirt in turn.  Tom guided them back towards the bed, pulling Harry down with him.  He could already feel Harry warming up in his hands, as if Harry was ever the truly cold one out of the two of them._

_“This isn’t right,” Harry began, even as he panted for breath. Tom nearly slapped him for that comment. Didn’t want this to stop, didn’t want those moralities that he’d secretly loved and hated getting in the way right now, and…_

_“Shut your eyes and pretend I’m her. Or-“ he kissed Harry again, pressing as close as possible, devouring all he could because he’d never claimed to be anything but utterly selfish. “Did you want me to stop?” He ground their hips together._

_Harry stared at him for a moment, vision a little hazed, soft – then their lips were crushed together once more._

_In the morning, Harry was gone._  
  
He didn’t see him for the rest of the summer.

* * *

 

 

"What happened?"

Harry looked at Riddle, almost surprised, and yet not quite.

They were on the rooftop again, the wind whipping their hair aside and against their faces.

"What do you mean?" he asked, cautiously.  
Tom favoured him with a look, partly amused, but mostly a little concerned.

"You're even more irritable today then you were yesterday," the man said. "And your Aurors are coddling you even more too. It's not difficult to assume that something happened."

Harry was quiet for a long moment.

"Someone broke into my flat and painted the walls with pig’s blood. Know anything about it?"

Tom's eyes narrowed.  
“Why would I know anything about it? Are you accusing me of something?”  
  
Harry startled a bit at the words, the look on Tom’s face, and shook his head.

"No," Harry replied. "No need to get defensive.” He supposed he had phrased the question badly. “I just meant, seeing your position that you might know some stuff that the higher ups won't tell me."

Tom calmed.

"I don't know anything. If it’s not work hours, it's outside my jurisdiction," Riddle replied. "I'm sorry to hear it though. Are you okay? Stupid question, ignore that, it obviously must have been stressful. Did your department at least get any leads out of it? You don’t – you don’t think it’s the Dark Lord?”  
  
God, Harry didn’t want to talk about this. Still.   
  
“I don’t think so. Unless the Dark Lord and my stalker really are the same person.”

Tom’s eyes widened in surprise, before his features grew meticulously composed.

“You believe your stalker to be behind this?”

“Well, if it’s not LV, then that rather ominously suggests I’ve got myself a new stalker instead. Not that it being LV is comforting either,” Harry muttered.

“I would imagine not.”

Harry glanced at him, before snaffling some more chips from the container.

"So you don’t know anything? Haven’t noticed anything?”   
  
“I’ll look into it, but I’m afraid not,” Tom murmured, a dark look in his eyes. “Are you staying at a safe house now?”  
  
“I’ll be moving into one, yeah – and no worries, thanks anyway. You're a great source for lunch too," Harry smirked, changing the subject. Then he paused, looking down at the chips again. "Speaking of...how much do I owe you for these?"

"A kiss. Or 5 sickles and 2 knuts if you want to be boring about it."

Harry stopped chewing for a moment, staring at the other, freezing.   
  
"...Clarify for my social obliviousness in such matters, are you actually being serious?" His voice was an octave too high.

Surely Tom didn’t – after all these years? – Harry had no idea, but his heart was suddenly hammering rather fast in his chest again.

"I have no need for money," Riddle shrugged. His posture was nonchalant. Those eyes were not.  It had been a futile hope that Tom was able to behave so casually around him because he’d forgotten that night.

Harry blinked, and swallowed the remnants of his chip thickly, not entirely sure how to react to that. The urge to apologize swelled up in his mouth again.

"I'm actually quite insulted that you don't think my kisses are worth at least a galleon worth of chips," Harry replied, eventually – desperate to turn the conversation back to mere banter. Something safe. Away from _that._ "You'd pay a whore more than that."

Tom stared at him incredulously for a moment, before just starting to laugh. Let the moment go, and straightened.

“We’ll discuss the Voldemort case better off the clock. I’ll see you Friday when we finish work. Don’t make plans.”

Harry stared after him to watch him go.  


	5. Chapter 5

Dumbledore was back in the country, and Harry had never been so relieved in his life. He sent the man a note immediately. Their meeting was arranged for Sunday, tea.

Friday came with nothing unexpected happening. Plenty of crime, not so much on the Dark Lord or stalker side of things. It felt like the calm before the storm.

Or maybe Harry was just nervous about seeing Tom outside of strictly work. Or about the fact that he was obscenely late for seeing Tom outside of strictly work.

Harry had no idea how to define their relationship, especially when he could see the memories swarming in Tom's expression occasionally, as much as they circled his own head. He swallowed, thickly - making his way up to the man's office on the miracle that he was there.

He'd been working a 'little' overtime, poring over the case files so far, orientating himself and trying to comb for a lead on Voldemort. He hadn't had any success yet, but maybe…

Tom too, was either mercifully or depressingly still hunched over at his desk. He looked tired, an ink smudge on his temple from where he must have accidentally brushed his quill. It made him look more like his boyhood self too.

The rush of affection Harry suddenly felt was suffocating. He cleared his throat.

Tom's gaze flicked up, and he straightened abruptly. Harry knew if he'd done that, he would have knocked the chair over in haste.

"...we had drinks planned," the former-Slytherin murmured. Harry's lips twitched.

"It's fine. I was working late too. Do we need to switch to another time? You could just give me notes if you made anyway or-?" He half hoped they would. Hated himself even more for hoping that they wouldn't - he wasn't being fair! Well, it was technically a work arrangement, but still…"I could get dinner. You could talk and eat at the same time. If we're both busy."

Tom was already shoving his papers into a briefcase.

Harry felt like a terrible person, despite how harmless the gesture might otherwise seem. Everything was complicated with Tom, wasn't it?

"You're still supposed to be at a safe house," Tom murmured. "We can't effectively calculate the risk or possibility of attack outside. Come to mine, I can knock something up. There should be some Proscetto in the fridge too."

Harry's mouth ran dry.

"You seem busy, I'd hate to impose on you m-" he began, shutting up at the look Tom speared him with.

"It would really be better if we had this conversation in a more controlled environment," the man said quietly. Harry couldn't exactly contest that, considering their subject matter. He nodded and relented.

"I'll cook something," he insisted. "If you're supplying the ingredients and drinks."

Tom held his hands up in surrender.

* * *

They had taken very different paths in life.

Where a childhood of scarcity had left Harry reluctant to spend, to do anything frivolous in case the money became necessary in harder times of life...it was immediately obvious that Tom lived indulgently. As if he knew those things, and those times, and never wanted to see them again. Refused to live like that, when he could have more.

From the wine he drank to the gleaming countertops of his state-of-the-art kitchen, Tom exuded a very different image to the one Harry had grown used to seeing on him.

"You've gone up in the world," Harry murmured, before he could stop himself from commenting. Tom glanced at him, dropping his briefcase on the table. Loosening his tie to something more casual as Harry peered at his fridge.

"We could hardly go down, Harry." He heard the clink of glasses, before the wine was being poured.

There was an odd feeling in his chest again.

"Harry." The glass was pressed into his hand, breaking him from his thoughts. Tom's gaze seared through him, studying him with a careful scrutiny.

"Is pasta acceptable?" Harry asked. "What would you like?"

"Chef's choice," Tom drawled, tipping his glass slightly. "Impress me." The man had sat himself down at the small island in the middle, rifling through his files and papers. "There is aparagus that needs using."

Harry got to work - something quick and easy, but also that would taste good considering he had offered to cook. It would be embarrassing if he served up something rubbish to the man in his own home.

He took a sip of his wine.

"So," he said, after a while. "Talk to me. Voldemort case. Did you find anything out with your high up ministry connections?" He glanced at Tom over his shoulder. Was utterly unsurprised to find the man already looking at him, though the back of his neck did heat up.

"I do not believe the man who broke into your house and the Dark Lord are the same person," Tom said, after a while. Harry's hands stilled where he was dicing vegetables.

"Oh?" he kept his voice casual. "What makes you say that? Not that I necessarily disagree with you."

"Well for one, it makes no sense. Though that would only stand loosely in a court of law, so I will skip the arguments on how a Dark Lord would probably have far more important things to be doing than painting your walls with pig's blood...but…"

"But?" Harry pressed.

"Do I have your confidence on this matter?" Tom asked, a moment. That made Harry turn around properly, brow furrowing.

"Your...confidence?"

"Work is not the only time my ears are open," Tom tapped his quill on some paperwork. Harry's mouth had gone dry again.

"..you spend time with Dark Wizards," he said, hollowly.

"I keep myself clean," Tom said. "But...I have reason to believe that the Dark Lord was otherwise preoccupied at the time."

"Do you know who he is?" Harry demanded, taking several steps closer - vegetables discarded. Riddle gave him a withering look.

"Of course not," the man said coldly. "And do you imagine I would be talking to the golden boy Auror if I was involved?"

Harry deflated, stomach twisting.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"You want a lead, answers," Tom said. "That is understandable. But I would appreciate if you would not jump on my throat for going out of my mind to help you. Obviously, this cannot be discussed with the rest of your department, but seeing as it pertains to you, I thought you should keep it in mind as you proceed."

"And you're not going to give me names?" Harry asked, incredulously. "Like your dark wizard contacts?" His shoulders squared. "It's Malfoy isn't it?"

"Harry."

"I bet it's Malfoy."

"You have no proof its Malfoy."

"He's a stuck up pureblood creep! Of course it's Malfoy!"

"Harry," Tom's voice sharpened, and the other had surged to his feet, grabbing hold of his collar and shoving him back. The hand had barely landed before Harry had automatically responded, twisting and shoving Tom back against the fridge. Pinned. His breathing was harsh, their faces inches away.

Tom's expression didn't change as he promptly retaliated, sweeping Harry's legs out from beneath him so he hit the floor, standing over him. He then continued as if there had been no pause, dusting his hands off.

"Stop it. You have got to stop throwing unbacked accusations. We're not children anymore, and this is not Grindelwald's battlefield. This is a different game. You're going to get yourself killed."

Harry spluttered, straightening - not attacking once he'd got the impulse that arose from Tom grabbing him under control. He wasn't looking for a fight, and Tom was apparently generous enough to ignore the trigger-hair reaction too.

"Do you understand?" Tom demanded a dangerous steel to his voice that Harry had never heard. As if Harry wasn't the one who had just slammed him against his kitchen surfaces. "Concentrate on the man who broke into your home. You've already battled one Dark Lord, don't die for another. I would rather not see you dead."

He stared at the other man for a moment, eyes narrowed.

"You are such a politician. Heavens forbid people getting murdered trouble your sponsors and the upward trend of your career."

He turned back to the vegetables, head spinning.

Because if LV wasn't Lord Voldemort...who was he?

* * *

Sometimes, Albus thought he was getting too old for this.

He watched the boy - no, the young man - enter his office, shoulders slumped against the weight of all he had faced in his life thus far.

Sometimes, he questioned his own decisions, he thought maybe he should tell him, the truth, everything, because Harry was hardly a child anymore. He'd  
seen more than a child should ever have to, fought alongside him in war.

And it all made no sense whatsoever.

"Hello, m'boy," he smiled. "Lemondrop?"

"Thanks Professor." The boy accepted one, sitting down on the opposite side of the desk. "Or is it Headmaster now?" Harry gave him a tired grin. "I believe congratulations are in order."

"Thank you," he murmured. "Though after everything, you are allowed to call me Albus. I was pleased to receive your message. How are you settling in at the Ministry? If you need anything-"

"Thanks, I'm doing fine. Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about, a bit, but…Grindelwald, is he…?"

"He's in Numegard." Albus' throat felt abruptly thick.

Everything he'd banked on had been disregarded, and he didn't understand it.

The Prophecy hadn't come though.

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. … Born to_ _those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies … and the_

_Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows_ _not … and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the_

_other survives. … The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born_ _as the seventh month dies…_ "

Those words had been playing on his mind for so long now, and on Gellert's too, he knew. He knew that was why his old friend had attacked the Potters. He only knew the first part, of course, but it had been enough to warrant execution to a small British Family that should otherwise not have been drawn into the fight at

all.

Indeed, without it, it may have been a far longer time until Britain's Ministry involved themselves in what should be a foreign affair.

Maybe it was because Harry had never been marked. Lily and James, rest their souls, had hidden the child under an Invisibility cloak, silenced. Grindelwald had never even seen him, never knew of the presence of another Hallow though he imaged if he had, that nothing would have prevented his determination in taking it for his own.

He'd been meaning to borrow the cloak for study just that week, and...if he hadn't, if he'd had the cloak that Halloween night, he couldn't even imagine the

consequences that had happened.

Harry had been saved, pulled out of the flames of a burning building, his spot marked by fallen debris and a certain patch of floor not covered in ash or

blood.

He didn't think Harry remembered watching his parents be tortured and killed in front of him, and he could only be thankful for that.

But sometimes he wished things had gone differently.

He'd defeated Gellert in battle, yes, but it should have been Harry. That was why he'd trained the boy, let him come to war and serve, that was why Grindelwald had remained interested in the child. Why he'd been hidden away in the Muggle world whilst the war raged and bled on, and the Dark Lord hunted him down without success.

But it hadn't been Harry, he'd been the one to defeat the Dark Wizard in battle.

So he feared his old friend wouldn't stay locked up, and sometimes cursed his own sentiments for being unable to murder the man he loved, or have his

death upon his conscience for any reason outside of Fate.

Which was why Harry had to do it.

No one else could.

No one else was supposed to.

But he hadn't.

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "I know you were...close."

"It's in the past." He dismissed the subject, for now, carefully. Certainly, he had no interest in talking about  _that_ when it left a sharp longing rotting in his stomach. "You wanted to talk to me about something else, I believe." He steepled his fingers.

"You have heard of the Dark Lord rising in Britain."

"Lord Voldemort," he confirmed. Harry nodded. It was a problem, indeed, though not as great as that of a prophecy unfulfilled. What he feared most, perhaps, was that the two Dark Lords would cojoin their forces and ambitions for a Wizarding state. Their blood-purity mania.

"What are your thoughts?" Harry seemed to be going to great lengths to keep his voice casual.

"I think he should be dealt with sooner, rather than later. Before he can gather more power and forces to him."

"Do you have any idea on who he or she is? He can't be that young. You must have taught him or her."

His brain flickered to one boy in particular, but he didn't say anything. The boy's feeling about Tom Riddle were too obvious - this would have to be approached in more delicate manner. He only hoped that didn't cost them dear.

"I heard you had a break in."

"Yes sir. But it's fine now. I can handle it." Harry's chin jutted up.

"Have you considered the possibility that the two are linked?" he enquired gently. "The initials are the same from the...incident." The boy flushed even at the memory.

"I don't think LV and Lord Voldemort are the same person, though the aurors are exploring the possibility," Harry said. He could tell the boy - young man - was holding something back, and hummed.

"What makes you believe so?" he pressed lightly.

"It doesn't make sense. A Dark Lord has better things to do than be obsessed with me, right?"

For a moment, he wondered again, if he should tell him. Harry was not a child anymore, and he had a certain right to know. On the other hand, why trouble him whilst the true Dark Lord remained imprisoned in Numegard?

A terrorist had no claim to that title, as of yet. There was little point panicking the boy over potentially nothing.

"You have a reputation as a powerful light wizard, Harry. You are an inspiration to many people," he said, instead. "He may try to target you and kill you simply for that reason, before you can grow stronger."

"That's what Tom said," Harry muttered.

"Tom Riddle?" His gaze sharpened. Now that was...interesting.

"Yeah," Harry waved a dismissive hand, wetting his lips in an apparently subconscious tick.

"Have you considered that he is discouraging you from investigating the Dark Lord further?"

"That conclusion seems obvious," the boy's tone was already more guarded.

"Have you considered why?"

"Some misguided attempt to protect me, I imagine," Harry said.

There was a melancholy, grotesque nostalgia swelling in his chest at that particular delusion. He highly doubted it, though it said a lot about the boy that he would believe it.

"Perhaps," he allowed, for now. "Or perhaps there are other reasons."

Harry looked at him sharply.

"But tell me how you've been," he changed the topic smoothly for now. "Tea, m'boy?"

* * *

Whatever they said, Harry had no intention to give up now. He hesitated, before tying the letter to Hedwig's leg.

_Ginny,_

_How are you? I know it's been a long time, and that things ended badly between us. For what it's worth, I'm sorry about that. I understand if you want nothing to do with me, let alone to help me and even less in a matter so dangerous, and I know I have no right to ask this of you but...LV is back. Would you be interested in helping me draw him out, and capture him for good? You can find me at the Auror office, if you're interested. Sorry again._

_Hope your Quidditch season is going great! I'll definitely be rooting for your team._

_Harry Potter._

Either way, it was time to put an end to some of this so that the Aurors could focus on the real problem.

And he already knew how possessive his stalker could be.

* * *

_A/N: Been a while, but here you go. I hope you like it! :)_


	6. Chapter 6

Ginny seemed like she always did, and Harry's chest ached for it.

For the easy brightness of her smile as she swept into the Auror offices, and the kiss she pressed against his cheek that reminded him of all that they'd had and that had gone before.

He focused on the matter at hand. Could see people staring at them from the offices, as he pressed a hand to her waist and smiled back as best as he could. "It's good to see you again! Thanks for coming in at such short notice."

"Harry," she shot him a look. "You know I'll always come if you need me. What are friends for?"

He ushered her into his faction of an office, flicking up a myriad of privacy, silencing and concealing charms. He'd already discussed his plans with the rest of the Aurors, so it was better safe than sorry if someone happened to wander into the department.

Ginny settled to sit on his chair, expression a bit more impassive now. Shuttered.

"So," she continued. "Not so much a peep of hello when you get back to England after facing all sorts of Dark Lords and monsters, and now this?"

"Sorry." Harry conjured himself a chair, sitting down too. "How are you?"

"Really?" she raised her brows. "I'm alright," Ginny said. "The team's doing well, as I told you. I'm sort of seeing someone. Oliver, actually. You remember him? Oliver Wood? He's keeper for Puddlemere now."

"Of course I remember him," Harry said. "I will never forget those pep talks and training hours. Good...good for you. For both of you."

It rang awkward.

She snorted.

In some way, Harry was surprised that he actually meant it. Of course, he would always wish her well - not only as his ex, but as a friend and pretty much family to boot, with the Weasleys. But...well.

What was even more awkward was that dinner with Tom was now popping into his head, considering that was even worse and that was in no way the appropriate or comparable response to that statement. Especially after what he'd done to Tom.

People hurried outside of his office, dashing this way and that with papers in hand.

"How are you?" prompted. Harry shrugged, smiled. Leaned forward, more intent, expression growing serious. Shoved all thought of Tom away.

"I told you about LV. Are you okay?"

"With the situation or your plan to draw him out specifically?" her voice cooled again. "It's not a surprise. Ron warned me about his return after your first date, seeing as you didn't much fancy sending a note on the matter apparently."

Harry's insides twisted. "Ginny-"

"What's the plan, Harry?"

* * *

Hestia's Place was a decent restaurant, just off Diagon Alley.

They'd been there before, on a date, and the memories rushed through Harry's mind now as they sat at the table waiting on dessert.

Softly lit candles, and it all felt so wrong and twisted when she was with someone else and Harry was with...well, when Harry had the possibility of getting her killed for the deception.

They'd been making sure they were publically spotted for around a week now - coffee bars outside of work, holding hands. Thankfully her relationship with Oliver had yet to go public, so his plan could still be put into action.

He felt like the sleaziest bastard in the world. Of course, they didn't do anything too incriminating, he wouldn't ask that of her. The performance was the key part. Anything else would be LV's already established possessiveness. But he still couldn't help but feel like he was taking advantage - could imagine this whole scheme could come across like trying it on with his ex, from an outsider's perspective.

So far, there had been nothing suspicious. No shadowy figures following them in the corner of Harry's eye - nothing.

Just the look on Tom's face when the man saw him and Ginny having lunch together, where Harry would normally find Tom on the roof on Mondays. Unfortunately, for all the look clenched in Harry's chest, it meant nothing for the case.

At least he'd be able to explain when all of this was over.

"Harry, you're not listening." Ginny squeezed his fingers across the table, giving him a look. "Is something wrong?"

Ron, of course, had been dubious about this whole plan from the start.

"Sorry," Harry said. "It's nothing, sorry."

Her eyes narrowed as she considered him, smiling. Slid their chairs closer so she was practically in his lap - a saccharine display of public affection. "You know," she said, once she was sure she wouldn't be overheard. "Considering this is your plan, you're bloody rubbish at pretend dating. If I was actually your girlfriend, I'd be insulted."

Colour flushed to Harry's cheeks.

"So," Ginny continued, before he could defend himself. "Who are they?"

Harry's mouth stuck dry, heart slamming against his ribcage.

"What?"

"Don't what me," she prodded me in the ribs. "I told you about Oliver. It's obvious - who is she? Or he? You obviously like  _someone."_

Harry resisted the urge to swallow. He was a trained Auror, for crying out loud!

"It doesn't matter."

"Obviously it does, if you're using me for bait instead of them," she said.

"It's not like that!"

"Then tell me what it's like," she said, before seeming to catch something on his face. "Oh, honestly, Harry," she rolled her eyes. "I'm not angry. It's been years. And I know why you're using me. LV knows me."

"I don't have time for a relationship right now." Harry tugged a hand through his hair. When the hell was their lemon cake getting here? "And not just because of crazy stalkers. I have a Dark Lord to catch."

"You've already fought one Dark Lord," Ginny said. "Are you that scared at getting on with your life that you want to throw yourself into obsessively fighting another?"

Harry spluttered. "It's - it's not like that."

She just looked at him.

Harry cleared his throat.

"Are they interested?" Ginny asked.

"He is," Harry said. Considering the comments Tom made about kissing him before, along with the way that the former Slytherin looked at him sometimes, that seemed obvious enough. Harry just wasn't sure he could give Tom what he wanted.

"Tom?"

Harry nearly choked on his drink. "Is it that obvious?"

"Considering the way you looked after he saw us together...yeah." She shrugged, flashing him a smile. "So much for viewing him like a little brother like you tell everyone."

"Oh god, don't," Harry huffed.

She smothered a smile into her wine glass.

And the street outside erupted into chaos.

* * *

Harry shoved Ginny out of her chair as the window shattered. People screamed, tables overturning as dark figures apparated into Diagon Alley.

His heart hammered in his chest, and he drew his wand in a second - casting a protective shield over the front of the restaurant.

_Death Eaters._

Harry had never seen them in person, only seen pictures from the file of the dark robes and the white masks. There hadn't been an attack of this scale since he returned to England...

"Stay down," he ordered, eyes fixed on the street outside. "There should be a back alley - try and get everyone out that way. Can you do that?  _Expecto Patronum."_ He didn't wait for a response before casting the spell, focusing on his message. "Death Eaters attacking Diagon Alley. Send help." His stag rushed off into the night.

He looked at Ginny, who's jaw clenched. She nodded, nonetheless.

"Then I'm coming back for you," she said. "Don't be an idiot."

Harry nodded, before throwing himself into the battle.

Spells slashed in every direction, people fleeing the figures marching down the street with destructive purpose.

Harry's mind raced, trying to figure out their intention - whilst the Dark Lord seemed to have no qualms about spreading terror, he normally had more of a point than simply that. This attack had to be targeting  _something._

Supplies of some sort? One of the shop-owners?

Harry ducked an incoming spell, whipping around and sending the Death Eater flying. Dodged another curse that scraped along his side, twisting this way and that - never stopping or staying still.

Weaving one spell after another, to incapacitate the enemy. Anything that preferably didn't kill them, but would leave them unable to get up and continue fighting. More than just stunners.

His breath quickened in his throat, shoulder throbbing where he'd been hit by a shard of exploded shrapnel.

Where the hell were the rest of the Aurors? Some civilians were trying to fight, of course, but they weren't prepared for this.

He shouldn't have told them a protective detail was pointless when it came to LV.

Bile burned up Harry's throat at the bodies already beginning to bleed into the cobblestones.

He sent a blasting curse at the largest formation of masked figures, seizing their attention away from Ollivander's wand shop. He jutted his chin up, eyes flashing as he grinned at them.

Reading their expressions through the masks was damnably impossible. At least with Grindelwald's men, he'd been able to search for tells to anticipate their movements.

Wands littered the street underfoot. Shards of window-glass crunched under his oxfords as he slammed up another shield, arm aching with the effort of maintaining it against the barrage of curses.

He just needed to give everyone time to get away - limit the casualties. And preferably unmask at least some of the bastards, to bring them in for interrogation at the offices later.

He lurched his weight forward, punching one of them in the throat. His bloody shield charm wasn't going to last much longer! He tried to steel the cracks already beginning to splinter into it, under the sheer force of spells being thrown at him.

Nearly melted in relief as the rest of the Aurors arrived - far more suited for battle than he.

Whilst comfortable, a jumper made for terrible armour.

"Alright there?" Scrimgeour barked at him. "How's the date going?"

Harry scowled at him, before quickly focusing on the next opponent. Ears ringing as another curse seared past his ear, singing off a lock of his hair.

"Ginny should have evacuated Hestia's place by now," he yelled, over the battle.

"Weasley? Thicknesse is with most of the civilians now. She wasn't there."

Harry's heart stopped. His mind buzzed horribly blank. Of course, she said she was coming back for him - he whipped around, scanning the chaos.

Some of the injured Death Eaters had already apparated away - they couldn't trap civilians into a bloody battlefield by warding their escape away. His eyes darted this way and that, trying to spot a glimpse of red hair in the madness.

The longer he went without seeing her, the more his stomach plunged.

"Potter! Focus!" Scrimgeour roared, as another spell just narrowly missed Harry.

Harry snarled between his teeth, fingers white-knuckled around his wand - he couldn't look for her. They still needed to deal with the Death Eaters.

God, she wouldn't even be in London if he hadn't asked her to be...she should have been safe!

The more harmless spells edged more vicious, and Scrimgeour glanced at him as he sent one Death Eater screaming and twisting to the floor in agony.

Memories flashed before his eyes. The uneasy terror of LV - Dumbledore at his sides on the streets of France as they worked to get close to the Dark Lord.

The taste of blood sprung coppery on his tongue, souring the remnant flavour of the Chicken Primavera he'd had for dinner.

He heard another scream echoing down the Alley, as the Death Eaters fled for Knockturn. He took chase in a heartbeat, blood pounding in his head.

"POTTER! Get back here!"

Everything he'd seen and done, and he came home as if nothing had changed. Wasn't one wa enough? Was this bastard Dark Lord really that eager to start another one? He obviously had no  _clue_ what it was really like.

The worse thought was that he didn't care.

Harry's breath snagged ragged in his lungs as he hurtled around a corner, leaping over the fallen - enemy, friend or civilian alike.

If they got away, all the bloodshed was for nothing.

_It couldn't be for nothing._

He lunged for the hood of one of the figure's robes, catching a rough handful of the material just as they disapparated. Nausea clawed at him, just as much as it had the first time, at the sensation of being squeezed through a straw.

He hit his knees gasping, raising his wand, stumbling for his feet. Tore away one of the masks, to see  _Macnair_ staring back at him.

The stunner hit him square in the back.

He wasn't aware of his body hitting the ground.


	7. Chapter 7

"The Aurors intercepted our mission, my lord." Lestrange trembled, kneeling at his feet, staring at the floor. "We didn't manage to capture the wand-maker."

Voldemort's fingers tightened on his wand, gaze darkening as he surveyed her.

The heavy curtains left the room cast in shadows, the darkness only deepening under the cold force bristling through his magic. Saturating the air, in a way he never could allow freely, under the guise of Tom Riddle.

"And you consider the Aurors an excuse for your failure, Bella?" an entirely too pleasant smile crossed his lips.

Between having control of their children, and thus leverage, or seeking an immediate recruitment from Azkaban as was the case with followers such as Bella, he'd managed to gather a large number of forces to his command. Even those older than him.

A foreign war stirred the blood nicely, and there were many who'd been itching for a fight under a leader of their own. It was a matter of taking advantage of his resources, through one method or another.

"We managed to capture one of them! He's being interrogated now!" she said. As if that made it better.

"Your mission was not to capture an Auror," he said, exhaling a breath. He tried to be patient, he did, but they made it so hard. "It was to apprehend Ollivander. I have no use for an Auror. I already have subtler methods of infiltrating them, without giving them the opportunity to assess us in turn."

The idiocy of it all boiled in his blood. At least he'd managed to have Miss Weasley taken to another location, during the chaos.

"But it's Harry Potter, my lord - Dumbledore's golden boy! He could be leverage-"

Tom's heart stopped. Ears ringing as he watched her mouth continue to move, without hearing a word.

"You said you were interrogating him. Did I tell you to?" It came out too loud.

Her eyes snapped to him.

"My lord?"

"Where is he? He should have been brought straight to me, considering you disobeyed my orders in taking direct prisoners."

How in Salazar's name did Harry even allow himself to get captured like that? He'd assumed Potter was stronger. He used to be stronger.

Bile clawed up his throat.

"In the dungeons, my-"

Tom surged to his feet before she could finish.  
"I'll deal with him, seeing as you have failed me once today already. I would rather avoid giving you the opportunity to disappoint me again."

She wilted. "But he saw Macnair's face, my lord! We couldn't let him go!"

A headache throbbed to life beneath his left eyebrow.

* * *

Harry looked terrible.

Tom dismissed his Death Eaters - uselessuselessuseless - with a flash of his eyes, staring at the young man suspended in front of him.

He'd stunned him as he entered, not about to risk revealing his own identity.

Blood trickled down Harry's temple, eyes swollen, body still twitching from the lingering remnants of the crucio that he'd interrupted.

He was more focused on all of the other scars. The marks of battles that Tom himself had never even touched. He trailed his fingers along the white lines and mottled bruises along Harry's torso, relishing the warm skin beneath his palm. Finding the beating pulse.

His Death Eaters needed to learn when it was appropriate to use initiative, and when it wasn't. Clearly. His jaw clenched.

But Harry was beautiful. Like this, it was almost like the first time Harry got hurt for him. Like this, it was obvious how much the other man could endure, even if everyone at the Ministry saw fit to coddle him as if he was ever really a helpless victim to the situations he was placed in.

This couldn't happen again.

* * *

Harry roused, struggling to piece together what exactly had happened.

A silken blindfold rested on his eyes, but instead of air and his own weight straining on his wrists and his toes, a bed rested soft beneath his aching back.

That wasn't entirely reassuring, because although bandaged, chains still shackled his hands down. He kept his breathing even, listening for any sound.

Bandages wrapped around his chest - wounds tended. No shirt.

He could hear breathing next to him, and held perfectly still.

"It is tempting-" came a voice, high and cold, "to forever lock up those that we love, so that no harm can come to them, isn't it? I dare say you must have considered such a thing with Miss Weasley before."

LV or someone else?

Unease prickled down Harry's spine.

If it was LV, that certainly suggested that even if he wasn't Lord Voldemort himself, that he had access to the Dark Lord's headquarters.

"I wouldn't do well kept locked up like a trophy," he said. "If that's what you were thinking."

His heart lashed against his chest, mouth dry. He cleared his throat against the raspiness. "To whom am I speaking? LV?"

'Those that we love' certainly suggested his stalker - it was just a matter of who else his stalker was or wasn't.

He didn't recognize the voice, but that didn't mean anything.

"You were reckless." The voice tightened. Harry felt the air displace, as the man leaned in. "You could have gotten yourself killed. Here, drink."

Hands helped him sit up, before pressing the rim of a glass to his mouth.

Harry's lips thinned, not about to drink anything he couldn't see or examine for himself.

"It is merely water," LV said. "If I intended to harm you, I would choose something significantly more enjoyable than poison."

It could have been drugs.

He heard a long-suffering sigh, before fingers pinched his nose, stoppering his breathing.

He drank.

It was, in fact, water.

Harry still fumed. "What did you do to Ginny?"

Cool fingers caressed over his throat, then his cheek, as he heard the glass clink set down on a side-table.

"Do not stress yourself over her," LV said. "Your body needs to recover."

Harry's jaw clenched, and he yanked against the restraints, wishing he had his wand. Some better way of assessing the situation.

"Then tell me," he said, stomach swooping. Was she dead? Surely she wasn't dead? What if she wasn't dead, what if they tortured her too? And LV just left her there? "Or I'll do myself more injury, and seeing as you rescued me, I reckon you don't want that, do you?"

Nails dug into his scalp for a few seconds. "I have done nothing to Miss Weasley, and thus have no idea what fate may have befallen her."

Harry wasn't sure he believed that or not. "Then find out what happened."

"I do not believe you are in any position to be making demands," the other said. "Although your apparent self-destructive desire to do yourself harm is rather alarming, and makes me further question your ability to look after yourself without supervision."

Harry's blood boiled, even as his stomach plunged even colder than before. "You are not keeping me here. I'm a trained fucking Auror, I don't need you to protect me, you condescending git."

"Even the most powerful people can need help and protection depending upon the variables of the circumstances," the voice said. "As the evidence suggests, considering you allowed yourself to be captured by Death Eaters."

Harry's palms itched to hit something. "I infiltrated the Death Eaters."

"Semantics."

For the first time meeting his stalker face to face, he didn't expect the bastard to be so infuriating.

"What do you want from me?"

"Numerous things. Ideally, right now, I would like you to stop trying to defeat the Dark lord. It will get you killed."

Harry laughed. "You know, there's a theory that you are the Dark Lord. That would be something, wouldn't it?"

LV didn't laugh. "I gave you the wristband for your protection, you should use it. I won't save you next time."

"Won't you?" Maybe that was true, maybe it wasn't. "Why did you save me this time?"

"I have my reasons."

"I gathered that. I was asking what they were."

"Do you need anything else for the pain? They were crucioing you when I found you," LV said.

"I've had worse. How long are you planning to keep me here?" His stomach clenched again, at the thought that the man didn't intend to release him at all - given his opening remark. And Harry was going to ignore the fact that he had considered wanting to somehow bubblewrap the people he cared about, to protect them, before.

"Until you recover."

"I can recover without being your prisoner. I've done it before, thanks."

"Consider yourself a guest of honour, and not when the people you love are in danger," LV said. He sounded far too calm, as if everything he was doing was perfectly reasonable behaviour. "You put too many people before yourself, Harry. It weakens you."

Harry jerked against the restraints, chest heaving - searing pain from under his bandages. Brain buzzing, teeth bared. "Fuck you."

The absolute worst part was that it wasn't even the first time he'd been faced with such an accusation, though Dumbledore always let him believe it was a strength. To love was strength.

"Take better care of yourself, and this wouldn't happen." LV adjusted the pillows behind his head, bloody fussing. "It's entirely your own fault that you force me to intervene in your affairs."

"Right, like when you sent my girlfriends threatening messages and hospitalized them? That was my fault too?" Harry's fingers flexed, lips twisted in a sneer.

"They caused you undue stress, and became liabilities you should not have wasted your time protecting. Considering you had a Dark Lord attempting to kill you, you should have been focused on your studies."

If he wasn't blindfolded, Harry would have stared in utter disbelief. There was a twisted logic there, but...well, twisted was putting it mildly. "My life, my choices," he growled.

The audacity of his stalker to think he had any right to demand otherwise...they weren't children anymore! He was a bloody grown man!

"If your friends started partaking in heroin," LV replied, "I daresay you would intervene."

"We are not friends!"

The silence rang deafening after that. Harry would have assumed LV left, if he couldn't still hear him breathing.

"Trust me, Harry." If the voice was cold before, it chilled sub-zero now. Breath puffed over his face, and magic - god, such magic - washed over his senses. "You don't want me as your enemy."

The mattress dipped as hands pressed in, caging either side of his head. He could just imagine the man looming over him...tied to a bed, in nothing but bandages and boxers.

Harry's head spun, as his own voice dropped icy too. Stomach lurching. "And you think you want to be my enemy?"

"Oh no." By contrast to his words, LV suddenly sounded rather delighted with him again instead. "You would make a formidable enemy, Harry. You misunderstand me, I'm not underestimating your skills, the opposite in fact. You're the most exquisite creature I've ever come across. And you'd never surrender - I would rather not be forced to kill you or break you beyond measure if you chose to defy me. I would consider that a unparalled waste...I am asking you nicely not to make me do that. Neither of us would enjoy it very much."

Long fingers tightened around his throat, not constricting, just holding. A lingering threat.

Harry wetted his lips, loathing the fact he couldn't see. It left him exposed, flayed bare and sickeningly defense. Blood pounded through his head. "You are Lord Voldemort."

A thumb traced over the pad of his bottom lip, parting them a moment. "Get some rest. The more you struggle, the longer I'll be forced to keep you here. I know you don't want that."

The hands withdrew, and Harry heard a door click locked.  
He exhaled a breath he hadn't been aware of holding.

Everything hurt.


	8. Chapter 8

Obviously, Harry had to escape.

The thought - the desperate graspings for a plan - throbbed through his head in the hours he was left alone.

He was an Auror! An ex Veteran! He couldn't just lay on the sinfully soft bed and surrender, or wait for rescue.

Unfortunately, however much he struggled against his carefully warded restraints, he couldn't budge them. His attempts to unravel the complex magic failed too, his spells sliding off LV's enchantments like oil slick on water. Bloody useless!

How good was the bastard?!  
Clearly, the only way he would escape was if he the Dark Lord to take the padded shackles off first.

Harry wetted his lips and tried to think, straining for the sound of footsteps or any clue to his surroundings. Unfortunately, nothing he focused on was of any use.

Ginny's face persisted in his memory, twisted by fear and absence. Hermione - Ron - all the people hurt in the Diagon Alley attack.

 _Tom._ His throat thickened.

What if he never escaped? What if he never saw any of them again? LV was hardly the sharing type. Harry did his best to shove the thought away, shuddering.

His stalker was even less pleasant a topic to consider. Especially when Harry remained bound essentially helpless and largely naked on the bastard's bed.  _A_ bed.

Harry swallowed hard.

His thoughts circled; around the cool and sibilant voice like the touch of frost against his cheek, to Ginny warm and fiercely encouraging, to Tom. Tom, Tom, Tom and the unreadable tempest locked behind his expression when he saw Harry with Ginny at the Ministry Cafeteria.

It would be a lie to claim the look had seared a simple realization. Tom wasn't everything. Harry wasn't struck with the knowledge that the other man was the only he wanted to share lunch with, let alone be with.

But he was  _something._

Harry yanked at his restraints once more, cheeks flushed.

Whatever Tom was or wasn't, he and Harry definitely wouldn't be anything if Harry didn't get out of this bloody mess. He needed to focus.

The door clicked open.

"I need to use the bathroom," Harry said. Oldest trick in the book, really, and not entirely a lie.

"Good morning to you too."His stalker sounded more amused than he had any right to sound. Calmer than before, at any rate - whether that meant something good or bad for Harry, he wasn't sure.

"Did you sleep well?" LV continued.

"As shocking as this may be to you," Harry said. "Being kidnapped by a genocidal Dark Lord is not actually the best atmosphere for a relaxed and restful recovery."

"Oh you've been in worse situations that this and survived, do not be so overdramatic." Chilled fingers took his pulse as the Dark Lord spoke, before a hand dipped trailing down Harry's exposed skin. Ghosting over various cuts and bruises - some new, mostly the old. "Where did you get this?"

Voldemort had paused on one of the particularly nasty ones. One of the ones that Harry actually remembered. The scar covered the expanse of Harry's left side, around the torso, splintering along his skin like the spider-webbing cracks on baked sand.

Grindelwald had left that one personally.

Harry's throat tightened, heart hammering even in memory. "Not your fucking business."

"I brought breakfast."

"Still not your fucking bus-"

Fingers pinched Harry's tongue mid-sentence, catching a sound in his throat as he gagged for a second, words silenced.

"Did Dumbledore's Army teach you such language? I'm not sure it suits such a pretty mouth."

Harry had some very choice foul language in mind as a response to that. As it was, he jerked forwards to bite.

LV's fingers must have shot back, because Harry only snapped air. " _Fucking_ creep." Maybe it wasn't particularly wise to go out of his way to rile his captor up more.

His stalker sighed. A few moments passed in silence.

Harry could smell coffee. He figured, at least, that he would have to be untied to eat.

The warmth of a spell lit up his chest, and he jolted.

"Your wounds seem to be healing well," Voldemort said before Harry could open his mouth. "If you behave and do not attempt anything foolish, I will release you the day after tomorrow. Have you thought anymore about what I said last night?"

For someone who believed in ideas as archaic as Blood Purity, the supposed Dark Lord's tone sounded shockingly reasonable.

Harry would have glared if not for the blindfold still resting over his eyes. Maybe it was just as well. While he would never quietly step down and let Voldemort take over and implement such awful bigotry into larger practice, maybe he shouldn't act like a Gryffindor and tell the Dark Lord that either. Not if he wanted to escape.

Tom certainly wouldn't approve of such pointless defiance, especially when Harry would simply continue fighting against Voldemort when he was released anyway. If Voldemort couldn't realize that, that was his fault. Still.

"You mean about not making you my enemy?" he asked, to stall and give himself time. The first inklings of a proper plan, however dubious, began to form. "Backing off?"

"Yes."

Harry wetted his lips, heart racing triple the speed. "If I wasn't your enemy, what would I be?"

"...excuse me?"

"If I wasn't your enemy," Harry slowed his voice down to a mockery of over-pronunciation, unable to quite help himself. "What would I be?"

"As charming a Death Eater as you would undoubtedly make, I would hardly expect you to actively fight for Lord Voldemort. Your lack of involvement would be enough."

Harry set that aside to examine later, a strange feeling in his gut. Why would the Dark Lord, even in his obsession, be so indulgent? So lenient? How had LV's obsession even  _started?_

"Would that really satisfy you?" Harry ventured, instead, mouth dry. "Is that really what you want with me?"

Voldemort's breathing sounded very measured - suspiciously so.

"You don't want me as your enemy," Harry said. "But I don't think you quite want  _just friends_ either." The bastard sent him roses for crying out loud! Attacked his lovers, not his friends. "You definitely don't want me uninvolved with you, do you?" He dropped his voice low, and struggled not to feel stupid and clumsy doing it.

He really wished he could see LV's face, all conveniences of criminal identification aside.

Fingers found his racing pulse once more. "How much would you be willing to offer then, Harry?"

Now Voldemort was concerned with what Harry wanted? He couldn't figure the man out.  
Harry exhaled a breath. "Untie me and find out," he dared.

The silence stretched, cold and... _something._

The Dark Lord's fingers spread over his throat. "You have the makings of a fine Slytherin." His voice seemed impossibly soft. "Do you even care about the hearts you play with?"

Harry's stomach dropped, not expecting the comment.  
"I don't play with people!" he protested, automatically. But...hadn't that been his plan now? Take advantage of LV's longstanding feelings in order to make an escape?

That didn't bloody well count! He was a Dark Lord and a stalker who kidnapped him! And this was war.

Harry remembered the rain, all those years ago. The mint of Tom's toothpaste against his lips. His shoulders tensed, ears ringing even as Voldemort spoke again, tone shifted from whatever it had been. More business like, more distant. Dark Lord, over his stalker, perhaps.

"Bear in mind, of course, Potter, that you are still injured and in no condition to fight - and that my hospitality would not be as kind if you attempted it."

Harry didn't recognize Voldemort's voice, but something about it still nagged at him. A familiar mannerism of speech, something! But if Voldemort was LV, as he had concluded, Harry had known him at Hogwarts, hadn't he?

He wracked his mind and tried to think of any suspicious classmates, again.

_God, Voldemort was young to be a rising Dark Lord._

Harry braced himself as he felt the lock on his wrists release, and pushed himself up. Abruptly dizzy with adrenaline, considering the dare he'd made before his restraints were undone.

Fingers caught and circled his healing wrists before he could reach for the blindfold.

Harry's breath stuttered, despite himself.

He could do this. He could still distract Voldemort, and then bolt. Follow through on his plan, regardless of the Dark Lord's words and tone before. The man had probably only been trying to manipulate him into being compliant anyway.

Harry parted his lips a little, a cold weight in his stomach. His muscles coiled tight.

Should he attack now? Voldemort would expect it now.

A mouth closed on his own, surprisingly warm despite the ice of the Dark Lord's hands.

Harry's heart stopped. All sound stopped.

The kiss remained chaste - a fleeting promise, or maybe a threat. Voldemort's lips vanished as quickly as they'd pressed against him.

"The bathroom is the first door, on the left," his stalker whispered.

Harry tugged the blindfold off the second his hands were free, meeting bloody, inhuman eyes. His own widened.

Voldemort looked skeletal.  _Hideous._

...why would he choose to glamour himself like that?

Goosebumps rose on his arm at LV's expression. He resisted the childish urge to hand a finger to his tingling lips.

...He didn't quite  _flee_ to the bathroom.

* * *

Tom closed his eyes as Harry disappeared into the bathroom, looking more like a deer in headlights than a man of his threat had any right to look.

In other circumstances, he might be thrilled that Harry looked that way after Tom kissed him.

Right now, a headache throbbed beneath his temples. Saving Harry might just have been a horrible mistake - certainly, talking to him for any length of time was.

Harry had an uncanny ability to get under his skin.

And that rather reptilian manipulation...he wasn't sure if he wanted to applaud him and be proud, or give him a taster of what exactly Lord Voldemort was capable of. Hold him down and watch him writhe and plead, so he didn't have to remember all of those years ago and the strangely hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Pitiful. He wasn't that boy anymore, and nor would he want to be.

He heard the tap run in the other room, before Harry returned.

"Genuinely though," his prisoner launched into his latest attack. "If you're trying to make sure I heal up, keeping me locked up isn't helping."

He skimmed his gaze over Harry's body in an unashamed appraisal - knowing what Harry would assume of the origin of his attention, even as Tom himself focused on those scars again.

It would be irrational to be jealous of those who had taken Harry prisoner before him. Maybe his skin was supposed to crawl, knowing what had been done to someone that most people would likely call his friend.

Harry was probably traumatized.

The jealousy burned, dismissive of all logic or rationality. The only scars Harry had should have been because of him.

"I could release you to your safe house-" his lip twitched, thinking of that. The Ministry's idea of a safe house was a joke, hardly safe from him at all. Harry snorted at the same time. Their gazes met, Potter's a little startled, as he continued without pause. "-if you take a vow that you will no longer investigate the Lord Voldemort case."

He didn't need Harry involved with Lord Voldemort. He could have him as Tom Riddle, until the auror was no longer a threat to him.

"The Auror department does not negotiate with criminals," Harry said.

Tom's lips curled for a different reason, almost pitying. "Oh, Harry Potter. You're not on a soldier's battlefield anymore, you have no idea what your Ministry does."

Harry's fists clenched, even as he swayed on the spot, obviously still exhausted from the battle. Stubborn bastard. "Unless your negotiations involve minimizing bloodshed and the lives of those I care about, I have nothing to say to you."

Harry's voice and expression was cold.

It was disappointing, really. He wondered if things would be different if he talked to him as Tom Riddle, instead of Lord Voldemort. Was not naive or optimistic enough to bank on the thought, either way.

He gestured at the breakfast platter, squashing the increasing urge to crucio his guest. Sometimes, it was hard to remember why he ever enjoyed the fool's company.

"Do not overestimate your importance to me," he said.

He could practically see Harry's mind racing, as he picked at some toast, a strange blush of colour on his cheek. Still, the other man jutted his chin up. "Obsession's a funny thing."

Voldemort soothed his fingers over his wand in his pocket.  
"My offer of leniency has a short life. I trust you are not so arrogant as to assume differently."

"I gathered that by your claim that you won't save my life again," Harry said - not sounding like he believed it.

He should have let his followers crucio Potter for longer. His eyes narrowed. Of course, maybe he'd been optimistic to assume Harry would be smart enough to grasp the full severity of this situation. Maybe he'd simply had too many expectations again.

He always expected too much of Harry.

( _He knew better what Harry could be, from the child he'd once known.)_

"You would not consider accepting my mercy for even a moment."

Harry was a fool of pigheaded recklessness and idiocy. He deserved any torment that came to him. Tom certainly wouldn't waste the energy to spare him again! Voldemort's blood boiled, however much he liked to think himself above such emotions.

"Turn yourself in, and accept mine," Harry snapped at him, eyes aflame. Bright and beautiful and fierce. "Because if Grindelwald didn't break me, you sure as hell won't."

And yet, the stubbornness doubled-eged the same unyielding strength, the  _power,_ that he'd grown up craving for himself.

Harry fought him with the same conviction that he'd taught Tom. The same conviction that inspired Lord Voldemort to change the world if he didn't like it.

Challenges, challenges.

He supposed Lucifer loved God even as he betrayed him too.

* * *

 

Harry didn't see Voldemort for the next two days.

He woke up disorientated in his bed, lips tingling with the memory of a kiss.

_It bloody infuriated him._

**Author's Note:**

> Some of you, if you know me from fanfiction.net, will recognize this story. I am in the process of rewriting it, freshening up the plot, and so um yeah. Figured I may as well post it. 
> 
> Also, for those of you follow Butterfly Heart...I realize the initial premise seems similar. I wrote this first kind of before I had the guts to write the story I wanted to write with Butterfly Heart all along. Hence - rewrite! Because there are bits of this one I wish to carry through, and I had ideas again for it again, so, um...enjoy! I hope.


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